The love of my grandparents

My grandfather turned 90 years old last week Sunday.

Over the lunch table, everyone went around the table and recounted memories they had of him. My cousin recounted a beautiful story of waking up at 3am and finding my grandfather and grandmother in the kitchen, drinking tea and deep in conversation. They were madly in love, until the day my gran died.

My grandmother only wanted one thing: to finish her Masters degree in classical music. She spoke about it even in her eighties- in the year that she passed away.

Above their bed, they had a picture of my grandfather in his cap and gown for his PhD graduation. Hanging slightly below, my grandmother, in her wedding dress.

Why, if he loved her so unquestionably much, did he not support her to complete this one professional ambition she had? Why did he not help her realise that dream?

I asked my parents this same question the other day. My mother replied: “I’m so glad your father lets me do whatever I want.”

Lets me.

Lets me.

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